


Remember Me?

by lemonout



Category: Tegan and Sara (Band)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-03
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-12 17:11:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7942495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lemonout/pseuds/lemonout
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Tegan wakes up in the hospital having lost two years of memory, she's about to find out just how much things have changed. Inspired by Sophie Kinsella's novel of the same name.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Owww. When Tegan Quin half-wakes up, she’s so woozy that she can’t think, let alone open her eyes. She lies there for a while, wondering if it is morning yet, and why her head hurts so much. Bits of the night before swim in her head, and she has the impression that there was some heavy drinking involved. Certainly a monstrous hangover would explain her splitting headache.

God, she is never drinking again, ever.

Somewhere far off she thinks there is a voice…but no, she has to sleep…

* * *

 

How long has she been awake? Five minutes? Half an hour, maybe? It’s hard to tell. She still feels rough, her head pounding with a rhythmic pain, and she realizes that she’s not positive what day it is. As her body gains full consciousness, she can feel that her eyelids are welded shut with gross crusty sleep.

Awesome.

Cautiously, she moves a hand up to her face and hears a rustle of sheets. They don’t sound like her ones at home, or feel like them, for that matter. With a huge effort, she wrenches her eyes open and lifts her head a few inches.

What the hell—?

She’s lying in a dim hospital room, with a panel of buttons to the right of the metal bed and a bunch of flowers on the night table. The TV overhead is muted, and a daytime TV host that Tegan doesn’t recognize gestures animatedly to his crowd. With a swallow, she notices the IV drop in her left hand, attached to a bag of fluid. This is not good.

Suddenly, a middle-aged nurse sweeps into the room, slips around the divider curtain and stoops to check her chart. Under the woman’s nameplate, her smock has the words “Cedars-Sinai” embroidered in maroon letters. Well, at least she knows where she is now.

“’Scuse me, what—?” Tegan croaks, her throat excruciatingly dry. She eyes a cup of water on the night table, and the nurse leans over to hand it to her. She accepts the drink gratefully, and gulps it down.

The nurse, Melissa, smiles kindly. “Hi, Tegan. How are you feeling?”

“Um, okay, thanks. I’m just really thirsty. Obviously. And my head hurts,” she says, wincing at the effort it takes to speak.

“I’ll get you some painkillers,” Melissa nods, and marks something on a clipboard.

“Thanks,” Tegan says, and finishes the water. “So…I’m in a hospital. Why?” she frowns, embarrassed at her condition and even more so that she has no idea what circumstances brought it on.

“You don’t remember how you got here?”

“No.” She shakes her head, and winces when it brings on a sharp pain. “I’m sort of hazy, to be honest.”

“Well, you had quite the bump on the head. I’ll go get your pill, and meanwhile try to see if you remember anything about the accident,” Melissa says gently, and leaves the room.

Accident…accident. And suddenly, in a rush, it all comes back. Last night, or whenever, she’d been celebrating at the _Heartthrob_ album release party in Los Angeles, doing…what was it? Oh, yeah, tequila shots. And lots of them.

She and Sara had killed the small set they’d performed beforehand, and they both felt like they were on top of the world, for once. Sure, there was a chance that their fans would hate their new direction, but more than anything, they were excited that the record was finally coming out; that they could finally share their hard work with the world. It was a perfect evening, and the twins had had the best time partying with their friends, crew and people from the label.

Now it all makes sense. Tegan remembers the pouring rain when she finally left the venue with Sara beside her, tipsily running for their car…she’d slipped!

Jesus Christ, she must have really hit her head.

Well, she suspects that her mom is on her way—it’s a long trip. But where the hell is Sara? When Tegan thinks of how quickly she would rush to her sister if it were Sara in the hospital, she can’t help but frown even deeper. What the fuck is her excuse?

The frustration is enough to make her eyes tear up, and at that moment Melissa returns with another cup of water.

“Oh, dear, is the pain that bad?” she sympathizes, and Tegan wastes no time gulping down the meds.

“I’ve felt better.”

“Oh, you’ll be just fine in no time,” the nurse says reassuringly, watching as Tegan’s eyes continue to water despite her best efforts.

Tegan grabs a tissue from the bed stand, and blows her nose furiously. The older woman winces at the impressive sound that emits from her rather slender patient, and looks a tiny bit taken aback.

Tegan ignores her and leans out of the bed to look for her phone, which she assumes is around somewhere.

“Your bag is in here, by the way,” the nurse says, noticing. “I’ll be back in a bit to check on you.”

She hands over a plastic bag before exiting, and Tegan lifts out a roomy black leather backpack that just smells expensive. She’s never seen it before—dammit, they must have switched the bags. She sighs and pushes the backpack aside, and sees that there is a phone loose in the plastic.

It’s an iPhone, but a newer model that she doesn’t recognize—not that she really keeps up with that stuff. She switches it on out of curiosity, and the lock screen is a pretty snapshot of an ocean. She’s fairly sure that this isn’t her phone, but it unlocks without asking for a passcode and she cocks her head upon seeing the background, which is a Revel and Riot design. Convinced that the device is hers at this point, despite the little warning bells going off in her mind at the weirdness, she heads straight to the Contacts app to give Sara a piece of her mind.

No answer. Tegan hangs up without leaving a message, suddenly drained. Ugh, everything is just the worst.

She tosses the phone onto the bed with a sigh, and looks at the leather bag once more, wondering whom it belongs to. Small gold lettering on it reads “Mansur Gavriel”, which she’s never even heard of, and figures that it belongs to some rich girl down the hall. Finally Tegan drops the bag on the floor, flops on her back, and closes her eyes.

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's no Lindsey in this story.

Tegan wakes up to find beams of morning light streaming through the scratchy blue hospital curtains. The IV drip has disappeared, which makes her feel way more normal. Melissa is in a corner of the room, messing with some papers, and Tegan clears her still-scratchy throat.

“Hey. Melissa,” she says, “Do you know what time it is?”

The nurse turns around with raised eyebrows. “You remember me?”

“Yeah, of course,” Tegan says in surprise. “We talked last night.”

“Wonderful! That means you’ve recovered from the post-traumatic amnesia,” the woman beams. “Don’t worry; the confusion is normal after a head injury,” she adds.

Before Tegan can reply, there’s a knock on the door and her mom flies into the room.

Sonia Clement purses her lips in utter sympathy, and Tegan can’t help but feel relief that _somebody_ finally showed up.

“Tegan, honey, how are you feeling?” she asks in a familiar oh-poor-Tegan voice, which makes her feel five years old all over again. “I’m so relieved.”

“Hi, Mom, I’m fine,” she shrugs. Her mother ignores this, and then asks Melissa how her daughter is. Apparently she needs an official confirmation.

“Tegan is much better today,” the nurse smiles. “A lot less confused than yesterday.”

“Thank God,” Sonia says, eyeing her daughter. “You had me frightened for a while there,” she adds, before looking down at her phone.

To be honest, Tegan isn’t listening. She can’t help but stare at her mother, because something just seems…wrong. She looks different. Kind of…older?

Tegan wonders for a moment if Sonia is sick, but that can’t be it. It’s true that she hasn’t seen her in a while, what with them being up to their eyes in prep for the album, and she feels a sudden guilt for not calling more often. Sonia hadn’t been able to make it to the LA release party, though she was going to attend the one in London. Her mom seems to have aged overnight, almost. But no, she would know if her mother was ill. Right?

“Bruce sends his love,” Sonia says, tapping at her phone.

“Mom—”

“—And I called Sara as soon as the doctors told me you were stable, baby. She’s on her way.”

That gets Tegan's attention.

“What the hell, Mom? If it were her, you know I’d be camped out next to her bed the whole time until she woke up. Where the fuck is she?”

“Language, Tegan,” Sonia scolds. Tegan scowls, and mutters a “sorry”.

Sonia's face softens. “I know it’s hard,” she sighs. “But maybe this will put things in perspective—it could be a fresh start for you and Sara.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Sonia gives her an expression full of nothing but pity, and seems to choose her next words carefully. “I suppose it isn’t my place. You two will talk it out when she gets here,” she says cryptically.

Tegan rolls her eyes. Her mother has clearly gone crazy. She and Sara were laughing their asses off at the party, and all was great between them—until she tripped at the car, obviously, because she doesn’t remember what happened after that.

“Oh, and I’ve got a card for you, from Nancy and her daughter. She’s so worried,” Sonia adds.

Tegan wants to ask if Ted or anyone else from the band has been by while she slept, but is interrupted once again.

“—Laurie just can’t stop listening to ‘Everything is Awesome’, and she made the sweetest card,” Sonia beams.

Laurie? Tegan doesn’t know who Laurie or Nancy is, and she fails to see what is “awesome” about anything right now.

“Mom…” Tegan frowns, “What are you talking about?”

She doesn’t get an answer, because right then a doctor and a couple of young, brainy-looking men and women behind him, enters the room. A room that is suddenly feeling very crowded.

“I should get going, Tegan,” her mom says. “I’m so glad you’re feeling better, but my flight out of LAX is in forty minutes and I’ve got to get the rental car back to Hertz.” She drops a quick kiss on her daughter’s cheek before adding, “You know I’d stay longer, but I’ve got that huge seminar. Sara should be here any minute.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye,” she says with forced cheer, and tries not to look completely downtrodden. Even her _mother_ can’t bear to spend more than five minutes at what is probably her deathbed.

Sonia pauses at the door. “Tegan…I know you two are going through a tough time, but she's really hurting,” she says softly. “Can you just try and talk to your sister, please? For me?”

What the fuck is she talking about?

“Whatever, Mom. Have a safe flight,” Tegan says instead. She really doesn’t have the energy to respond to whatever shrink crap Sonia is trying to pull in response to some problem that she thinks she detects.

Sonia leaves the room, and again Tegan notices the doctor who has been observing the exchange with an air of amusement. His interns hang back with quiet attention, ready to take copious notes from the looks of it.

“There’s our rockstar,” he says in a pleasant, brisk tone. “I’m Dr. DuVall, one of the resident neurologists here. How are you feeling, Tegan?”

“Okay,” she replies.

Tegan has no problem with doctors. She’s not afraid of pain—her tattooed limbs prove as much—and she’s used to being sick from constant touring. Despite this, she looks over the group of interns and wonders randomly if they’ve removed any of her organs without her permission. Then again, that’s a train of thought that can only lead to no good.

“Great.” The doctor nods. “I’m going to ask you some questions, bear with me if they seem a little obvious.”

That sounds reasonable. “Okay,” she agrees cautiously.

“Can you tell me your full name, please?”

“Tegan Rain Quin,” she replies easily. Dr. DuVall nods and checks something off on his clipboard.

“And the year you were born, please?”

“Nineteen-eighty,” she mumbles almost incoherently. Because she loves being reminded that she’s trying to make it in the pop music game at thirty-two years old.

“Very good. Now, Tegan, when your car crashed on the way to the studio that afternoon, you bumped your head against the right side window. Your brain went through a minor amount of swelling, but you’ve been very lucky.” He turns back to the paperwork, and she stares at him, puzzled.

“Um…I think you’ve mixed me up with someone else. It wasn’t afternoon—I was on my way home from a party, at night,” Tegan protests. She frowns deeper, because what about Sara? “My sister was with me, too. Sara? Sara Quin?”

The doctor knits his eyebrows, and consults the file. “It says the patient was involved in a traffic accident. It was only you—I believe we’ve established that you are certainly Ms. Tegan Quin—and a hired driver, who only experienced slight bruising. No ‘Sara’ was involved,” he says conclusively. The interns bob their heads in agreement, and she scowls.

“Well, they must’ve written it down wrong,” Tegan protests. “I was at a party, and my sister and I were running for a car and I fell. That’s what happened, I’m sure of it.”

Dr. DuVall and Melissa exchange confused looks.

“But it says here—” he tries to continue, and she cuts him off.

“I’m not gonna lie, I was pretty hammered that night. But I vividly remember it,” she says, frustrated. “Look, we’ve already settled that I know who I am. Tegan Quin; thirty-two; one half of Tegan and Sara…”

At this point in her speech, she notices that the doctor and his posse are looking at her much too closely, with matching expressions that are basically, well, _grave_. Her stomach starts flip-flopping, because this is it, right? This is when they tell her that she has cancer, or a brain tumor or some shit?

With a sudden wobble in her voice, she asks, “Is something really wrong with me? Just tell me, okay?”

“Tegan, I’d like to ask you another question,” the doctor says gently. “Can you tell me what year it is?”

This perplexes her. “What _year_ it is?”

“Don’t be alarmed. It’s one of our standard questions.”

Too late, dude. She feels like she’s about to have a stroke, from the way her heart is pounding. Something’s the matter; she feels like they’re almost playing a trick on her.

“It’s 2013,” Tegan says finally.

Why won’t they stop looking at her so carefully? There’s a weird stillness in the room, and Tegan can tell she’s not the only one who isn’t breathing.

“Okay,” Dr. DuVall lowers his clipboard. “Tegan, today is October 20, 2015.”

His face is serious. Melissa’s face is serious. The baby-faced doctors-in-training even look serious.

They have to be messing with her, right?

“Ha, ha,” she rolls her eyes. “Very funny, doc. Is this supposed to lighten the mood?”

Dr. DuVall doesn’t break his gaze. “I’m not joking,” he says slowly.

“He’s serious, Ms. Quin,” one of the trainees pipes up, and Tegan has the sudden urge to squeeze his neck until his head pops off. “We’re really in 2015.”

She can hear what they’re saying, but it’s ridiculous. The other day it was 2013. The best album of their career was about to drop. How could they have jumped two years?

“It can’t be 2015. Impossible. I’m not _stupid_ —!”

“Take a deep breath; it’s important to stay calm,” The doctor says, to which she takes several short, gasping gulps of air. Stay calm, her ass. “Let’s take this slowly. What’s the last thing you remember?”

“Okay, well,” she scrunches up her face in concentration. “The last thing I remember is leaving our record party, downtown, and the car, like I said. I slipped in a puddle, I think, and fell.” Her voice is trembling, and she hates that she’s becoming less sure by the minute. “And I woke up in a hospital. That was January 29, 2013. I remember because it’s the day mine and Sara’s album came out, so I think I should know,” she adds grumpily.

“Tegan, all of that happened more than two years ago,” Melissa says softly. “You’re remembering the wrong accident.”

She seems so sure; they all do, and panic rises in Tegan as she looks at their faces. It’s 2013. It _feels_ like 2013. Again: what the fuck is happening?

“What else do you remember?” asks Dr. DuVall. “Working back from the accident, I should say.”

“I dunno. Everything, I think. I remember the band, and all of the songs for our new record, and my apartment…” she trails off.

One of the interns had left the room while they were talking, and he returns now, holding a copy of the _Los Angeles Times_. The doctor nods.

“Yes, that’s a good idea,” he says.

“Look, Tegan,” Melissa says gingerly, probably worried that she’ll start shouting again. “This is today’s paper.”

She experiences a huge jolt of shock as she reads the date: October 20, 2015. But that doesn’t mean anything. It’s just some words printed on a paper. It doesn’t prove…she looks farther down the page, at a photograph of Obama.

“Huh, he’s aged!” she blurts before she can help it, and _just like Mom_ flits through her mind. With shaky hands, she turns the page, her gaze traveling uncertainly over a few headlines— _California drought could be America’s water wake up call; student loan rates to rise_ —then is drawn to one story in particular: “Donald Trump is uniquely unsuited to be president”.

Okay, now she’s really freaked out. Trump? For president? What kind of world…?

She stares at the newspaper until the words begin to swim in front of her eyes.

And then Tegan realizes that this is why nothing made sense—it’s not her mother that’s confused, it’s her.

Fuck.

“Am I hallucinating?” she asks, her eyes darting from one professional to the other. “Have I gone insane?”

“No!” Dr. DuVall says empathetically. “Tegan, I believe you’re suffering from retrograde amnesia. It’s normal for such a condition to arise after head injuries, it simply appears that yours is, well, dragging out a little.”

Tegan bites one lip, considering. She does have a tendency to hold on to things sometimes.

With a sigh, she glares at him, “So I’ve lost my memory? Is that it? Two years?”

“Well, it’s difficult to be precise, but that’s what it looks like.”

She grabs the paper again. _October 20, 2015. October 20, 2015._

It really is the year 2015. Which means she must be…

Oh, God. She’s thirty-five.

Son of a bitch, she’s _old._


	3. Chapter 3

Dr. DuVall prattles on for a while about scans and tests. Halfway through, Tegan gives up actually listening and settles for nodding occasionally. Truthfully, her mind is on other things.

When at last the doctor is summoned out of the room, she sighs with relief because she can’t be talked at any longer. She takes a sip of the coffee they’ve gotten her, noting that it tastes rather rich for a hospital-grade beverage, and flops back on the pillows. The hot drink spreads warmth inside her, doing its best to soothe the anxious thoughts threatening to implode her head.

Melissa has gone off duty and another nurse that showed up during the neurologist’s speech lingers in the room, scribbling on some chart or another.

“That’s a lot to take in. How’re you feeling?” she asks.

Tegan reads her nametag (“Kate”) and notes that she’s probably around forty. Great, she’s still being baby-sat. She can’t wait to get out of here and figure out what the fuck is going on with her life.

“Really, really weird.” She tries to smile because Kate hardly deserves the worst of her irritated thoughts. Her stomach is still jumping around like she’s eaten a whole box of Goldfish, but it could just be the caffeine working. It’s the nicest thing she’s tasted in a while, having been in surgery for god knows how many days.

Surgery…Dr. DuVall had probably talked about that. Not that she’d been paying attention.

The nurse gives her a sympathetic smile. “I don’t blame you. Just take it easy; don’t push yourself. You’ve got a lot to take in and your brain is trying to reboot itself,” she offers before consulting her watch in order to write down the time.

“When people get, you know, amnesia,” Tegan begins, aware that her voice is shaking, “do the missing memories come back?”

The nurse nods reassuringly, her greying ponytail bobbing. “Usually.”

Tegan shuts her eyes tight and tries to remember something, anything. But her dumb brain refuses to cooperate, and all it picks up is nothing. Just black, empty nothing.

“So, tell me about 2015.” She opens her eyes. “I can’t believe Donald Trump is running for president.”

Kate shrugs. “Yeah. I don’t follow politics much, but everything that comes out of his mouth is pretty crazy.”

Tegan’s frowns, and lets out a frustrated noise that she can’t recall any of it.

“Something wrong?”

She shakes her head. “Nah, forget it. So…have they solved global warming yet? Or cured cancer?”

“Not yet,” Kate informs her. To be honest, Tegan is a little unimpressed by 2015. Her face must reveal such, because the nurse smiles kindly.

“Maybe some breakfast will cheer you up, hmm? Would you like continental, hot, or a fruit basket? Or all three?”

Right on cue, Tegan’s stomach growls and she winces, feeling nauseous and starving at the same time.

“Um, continental, I guess. Thanks.” Then she frowns. “Hold it, fruit basket? Like, that someone sent me?”

Tegan’s never been in this hospital before, thank God, but she is aware of the fact that she’s received an awful lot of specialized attention. She just figured it was because she’s an interesting case or something.

“No, we offer it for certain patients,” Kate laughs, interrupting her fantasy. “You’re in the private wing,” she adds.

_Private_? Tegan can’t afford to go private. Was the label taking care of this?

“I’ll just get you another coffee…” The nurse picks up the cup and turns to leave.

“Stop!” Tegan exclaims in sudden panic. She can’t have any more coffee. It probably costs fifty bucks a cup.

“What’s wrong?” Kate asks in surprise.

“I can’t afford all this,” she says in an awkward rush. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why I’m in this room, but it’s probably a mistake. I’m happy to move.”

“It’s all covered by your health insurance,” the nurse says. “Don’t worry.”

Tegan is taken aback. At most, she’d expected her to say that someone else was taking care of it, but her own medical plan? She’s one half of the team that handles the band’s finances and health insurance, and they definitely don’t have _that_ level of coverage. _Sainthood_ hadn’t been such a hot seller…but maybe that had all changed with _Heartthrob._

And then it hits her right in the stomach. She’s not the same person that she was two years ago. Sure, she’s still _her_ , but also someone different and older (she’s reminded with a ping that she’s thirty-five, _dammit_ ). But at least she’s someone with better health insurance, anyways.

What else has changed?

She takes a look around the room, and sees that the curtain has been pushed back. It was only a covering to keep out the light, not a divider as she’d previously thought, and it’s obvious that the room is hers alone. Her eyes land again on the cool leather backpack, and she realizes that she is probably its owner. Nice.

“Kate, do you think the bag is mine?” she gestures at it, like Kate would be able to tell.

“Should be.” The nurse nods. “I’ll just check for you.” She opens the clasp, which rings with a nice metal “click”, and pulls out a sleek leather wallet.

“Yup, it’s yours, see?” She holds out a platinum American Express card with _Tegan R Quin_ printed across it.

Her brain short-circuits as she stares at the card. This is her AmEx. That’s her bag. But someone has got to be playing a really weird joke, like reverse identity theft.

“Badass!” she blurts without caring. She grabs the bag from Kate and sifts through it, brushing aside receipts and a pair of mirrored sunglasses. She comes across a little compact mirror, and opens it gingerly to have a look.

“You’ve had some cuts to the face, Tegan,” the nurse says quickly. “Don’t be alarmed—they’ll heal.”

As she meets her own eyes in the tiny mirror, Tegan feels a burst of relief. It’s still her, even with a slightly swollen right eyelid. She tilts the mirror farther down: there are her lips, her mouth—

No labret piercing.

Tegan inspects the tiny hole beneath her bottom lip, eyes welling up as she realizes it’s healing over. That means the piercing was taken out a while ago, not just when she was admitted here.

“Are you okay?” Kate breaks her daze. “Tegan?”

“Do you have a better mirror?” she finally manages. That piercing was a part of her, and now it’s gone.

The nurse nods. “There’s one in the bathroom,” she says slowly, looking at Tegan carefully, who is not surprised. She probably looks like she’s about to punch something.

She heaves herself out of the metal bed. Her legs are wobbly, but she manages to stumble to the adjoining bathroom.

“Now,” Kate says, “you have some cuts and bruising, so your appearance may be a little alarming.”

  
“Yeah, I’ll be fine, just show me,” she says impatiently. Tegan takes a deep breath and steels herself. What if they’ve shaved her head? Or removed a boob? No, they haven’t done either of those things, she’d feel it. She needs to stop being ridiculous.

Kate swings the door shut to reveal a full-length mirror on the back of it.

Tegan takes one look. Suddenly she can’t breathe, and she grabs the edge of the sink, trying to keep control of herself. She tries to speak and fails miserably.

“I know your injuries look bad,” Kate puts a strong arm under her, “but they’re just surface wounds. They’ll heal, believe me.” She winks at their reflection, and Tegan stares on with horror.

She’s not looking at the cuts. Or the bandages on her forehead. It’s what’s _underneath._

Some of her hair has been messed up, but Tegan can tell that her undercut has grown out to a layered bob. Her locks are curling in their natural texture, making for one of the worst cases of bedhead she’s ever had. Her eyebrows are a little thicker, too, but mostly she can’t get over the lack of piercing. She pulls her lips back in a grimace, sulking when she notices the lines around her mouth are significantly more pronounced.

“Oh, my God,” she moans.

“What’s changed?” The nurse is looking at her curiously.

“Everything!” she grounds out. “I look fucking…old.”

Kate gives her an amused look. “Honey, you don’t look a day over twenty-five. We should all be so blessed.”

Tegan rolls her eyes. In her opinion, she looks like she’s been hit by a truck. Oh, wait, she pretty much was.

She leans into the mirror again, relieved that as long as she doesn’t move her eyebrows, mouth or any other muscle, she looks more or less like she did in 2013. Yes, she can do this. She just has to never make any expression ever again. Easy.

With a spinning head, she flees the bathroom and the awful, lying mirror, and dives back into the bed. Ignoring the nurse’s protests to take it easy, she yanks the sheets up to her chin and wishes fervently for the bed to swallow her whole and transport her back two years, where everything was normal. For the hundredth time that day, she asks herself, what in the actual fuck?

With that thought, Sara Quin bursts into the room, and Tegan's jaw drops at the sight.

It’s her sister, yes, but it’s also…not.


	4. Chapter 4

The nurse takes one look at the twins and quickly backs out of the room to give them privacy.

“Oh, Tegan,” Sara says breathlessly, screeching to a halt at her beside. “Thank God.” She motions as if she’s about to lean in to embrace Tegan, but pulls back, reconsidering.

Tegan has never felt more confused. She remembers to close her mouth, but is rendered speechless as she looks her sister over. If her own appearance was a shock, well, that was nothing compared to this, and the hug that she never received is all but forgotten.

Sara, who’s panting slightly, is decked out in coordinating grey workout clothing from head to toe, a light sheen of sweat covering her skin. Tegan notes with surprise that her dark hair is long enough to be pulled back in a high ponytail, with no bangs in sight. It’s jarring, both to see Sara dressed for anything that resembles exercising, and because it feels like she only saw her twin a few days ago with short hair. She can’t remember the last time Sara let her hair grow past her ears. And that isn’t the only thing. Her twin had been consumed with stress leading up to the release of _Heartthrob_. Truly, they’d both been, but Sara had had a harder time eating than Tegan, who could only watch with worried eyes as her younger sister became more and more underweight. Sara has clearly gotten her health under control, and even filled out a little, Tegan can’t help but notice.

Obviously, she says none of this.

“Where the fuck have you been?” Tegan demands, throwing the sheet aside and moving to sit up straight.

Sara’s hands find the waistband of her tight workout pants, and she fingers the material nervously. Her sleeveless top reveals the tattoos on her bare arms, their colors bright under the fluorescent hospital lights.

“I...I didn’t think you'd want me here. You know, because…” she trails off.

Tegan stares at her in angry confusion. “Because what?”

Sara is silent. With more patience than she feels she possesses at the moment, Tegan waits for an explanation.

Her sister sighs, reaching up to fiddle with her hair.

“Because we haven’t exactly been...getting along.” Sara’s words are timid, but have an edge to them at the same time.

First Sonia, now her own goddamn sister. What is everyone _talking_ about?

“Bullshit,” Tegan says instead. “You know I’d be here if it were you.”

Sara grimaces as she tucks a few stray hairs that have escaped back into her ponytail. “I know. I was mainly being selfish—they said you’d be fine, so, uh, I was just trying to distract myself.”

Tegan just glares at Sara, eyeing the workout outfit again.

“I get what it comes off as,” Sara adds softly. “Like, it was shitty of me,” she tries, “But all I could do was pretend everything was normal.”

This defense would make sense to Tegan in a world where she had any idea what “normal” was. Sadly, she no longer lives in that world. On that note, she notices that Sara seems to have lost her slight lisp. Tegan guesses that means her asthma has improved, but in this moment she’s so mad that she can’t drudge up the appropriate happiness for her sister.

“When Mom called me and said you were awake and asking for me, I came as soon as I could, Tee, I swear,” Sara continues, her voice rising in pitch.

At this, Tegan feels the hurt seep from her body, understanding that Sara probably had been feeling scared more than anything. Just because she’d eagerly camp out at her sister’s bedside, doesn’t mean Sara is strong enough to do the same.

Tegan feels the rage leave her face, but Sara isn’t done.

“Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t here. I’d never forgive myself if you’d—if you’d—”  
  
Tegan snorts. “What, died?”

“Well, yeah,” Sara whispers. “But the place we’re in right now...I just thought, you know, being here might make it worse. Like I said, though, I was mostly being selfish.”

Tegan wants to know all about that so-called place, but there will be time for that later. One step at a time. For now, she’s still processing the shock at her twin’s appearance. She looks her over again and changes the subject.

“What’d you, run here?” Tegan asks, her tone a little contemptuous. Seriously, what universe is this?

“Very funny,” Sara eyerolls. “I was with Eric. Excuse me for sweating from the cardio.”

This throws Tegan. “Who the fuck is that?”

Sara looks at her like she’s stupid. “My trainer, asshole. You know I’m trying to get in shape for this cycle.”

Tegan watches curiously as Sara’s expression hardens.

“You’d know that if you bothered to call me every once in a while,” the younger twin mutters.

A jolt runs through Tegan’s body as she remembers Sara has no idea about her condition. Nor does Sonia, but she’ll handle that later.  
  
“This is probably a good time to tell you,” Tegan begins with more than a hint of drama, “That I’ve lost two years of memories, Sar.”

Sara’s face doesn’t lose its animosity. “Yeah, sure,” she says sarcastically, one side of her mouth curling into a smirk.

Tegan laughs humorlessly. “Read the chart, sis,” she replies with a gesture toward the end of her bed, the sleeve of her hospital gown flapping against her wrist.

Sara does, and her features twist into shock. “Oh, my God,” she gasps.

“Yeah, I’ve got amnesia,” Tegan sighs, tapping the side of her head. “Basically, my brain is remembering the wrong accident—from the _Heartthrob_ party two years ago, when I slipped? That’s the last thing I know.”

Now it’s Sara’s jaw that’s on the floor. “Yes, I remember that, but...” she trails off quietly.

Tegan blinks at her, nodding expectantly.

“Wait, so you don’t remember anything from the last two years?” Sara echoes.

Tegan sighs theatrically. “Bingo, dummy. As far as my stupid memory is concerned, that party was only yesterday for me,” she explains, closing her eyes. “Or a few days ago. You know what I mean.”

When she opens her lids again, Sara is searching her face with the sort of intensity that she typically dedicates to solving complex problems, and Tegan feels the familiar sensation of being X-rayed by her twin.

The most annoying part is that she can tell Sara’s quick mind is working through some complicated chain of thoughts, and Tegan has no idea what they are.

“So you don’t remember anything that happened after the party,” Sara says slowly. “The promo? The tours? Nothing?”

Tegan’s eyes well up on their own accord. “No, I can’t,” she replies shakily. “It sucks. More than sucks. The entire album cycle is a blank for me. I don’t…”

Sara’s gaze is boring into hers, and the older twin starts to feel uncomfortable.

“The album..." Tegan repeats, inviting her sister to fill in the blanks. Then, hopefully: “Did people like it?”

No response.

Tegan feels herself start to panic as she watches her sister’s eyes widen, the weight of the situation really sinking in for her.

“Holy fuck,” Sara finally breathes, ignoring the question.

Tegan sits up more in the bed, leaning toward her twin, whose face is quickly whitening.

“Sar? What’s wrong?” she asks urgently.

“I…”

And that’s when Sara passes out at her bedside.

 


	5. Chapter 5

“So you don’t remember anything,” Sara is saying. She holds an ice pack to her skull, cringing as it touches the sore spot from where she hit the ground.

From her bed, Tegan surveys her twin with perhaps a bit more glee than she should. Now that she’s not the only one around here with a head injury, her mood has improved exponentially, and she digs into her recently delivered breakfast with newfound energy.

“Nope,” she says with a gummy smile.  
  
“Jesus,” Sara sighs, echoing the amnesiac’s distressed thoughts.

She casts her gaze around the room, looking anywhere but at Tegan, who in comparison can't stop staring at her sister. She finds it hard to get over the fact that she’s got a view of Sara's entire face for the first time in literal years. It’s unnerving, yes, but not in a bad way. She’s always thought Sara had a nice face. Well, duh, it’s basically her own.

Speaking of which.

“How’s your head?” Tegan asks, genuinely concerned. Sara winces slightly, but mutters that the pain isn’t so bad.

Tegan nods. “Well, if you're gonna faint, I guess this is one of the better places to do it in,” she jokes.

Sara doesn’t crack a smile, though. What is her deal?

Tegan suddenly straightens up, swallowing a bite of sugary muffin. “Wait, I've got an idea,” she exclaims. “Do you have any photos or videos or whatever that you can show me?”

At this, Sara’s eyes squint a fraction. She lowers the ice pack from her head, but says nothing.

Tegan waits a beat, then adds determinedly, “We’ve got to do _something_ to try and make me remember, right?”

Her twin raises her eyebrows, but the next words out of her mouth aren’t uttered with the enthusiasm Tegan was expecting.

“Haven’t the doctors already tried that?” Sara says, causing a flash of annoyance in Tegan. “I assume they didn't just waltz in here, diagnose you and go on their merry way.”

Tegan frowns. “Well, yeah, but...you’re my sister. It’s different,” she argues. She’s got a strange feeling that Sara is keeping something from her.

The younger twin still doesn't look properly convinced, which bothers Tegan. “Don’t you want me to remember?” she asks in a small voice.

Something flickers across Sara's face, but it's so quick that Tegan doesn't quite catch it.

“Of course,” Sara says, thinking for a moment. “I’ve got an idea. Gimme an hour or so and I’ll be back with something that might work.”

Tegan gives her a small smile. “Okay…I’ll be here,” she says halfheartedly before flopping back against the pillows, adding a mumbled “obviously”. As Sara leaves the room, Tegan closes her eyes in response to the small headache that’s forming.

Where has her life gone?

* * *

  
A little while later, Tegan awakes from her cat nap at the sound of Sara reentering the room.

She’s changed into a pair of black jeans and a t-shirt and taken out her ponytail. Her straightened hair frames her face, and Tegan is struck once again by how much it’s like looking into a mirror. Save for their mullet phase, the twins have always purposely sported different hairdos, clinging desperately to the notion of expressing their individual identities. Not anymore, it seems. She imagines the fans are beside themselves at their "twinning".

Before Tegan can say anything, Sara slings a roomy leather bag from her shoulder, dumping it onto the bed with a look on her face that means business. Tegan gets comfortable on the pillows, rubbing her hands together as Sara takes a seat on the edge of the hospital bed.

“Here, I’ve brought you some clothes,” Sara offers, pulling garments out of the bag. “I figured you’re dying to get out of that hospital gown.”

Tegan grabs at the items with interest, making an appreciative noise at the black leather jacket (she notes that it’s AllSaints, not too shabby), dark skinny jeans and Marc Jacobs tee. She’ll change later, though—she doesn’t want to waste another second before seeing what Sara has to show her. She pushes the clothing aside.

“Okay, hopefully some of this stuff will jog your memory,” Sara nods, blowing a piece of hair out of her face. Tegan is glad to see that she seems motivated.

“Cool.”

The first object that Sara removes from the bag is a huge magazine. Tegan can’t see the title yet, and she figures that it’s just to help her with some more current events.

Sara flips the cover over with a pleased grin, and Tegan’s eyes widen at what appears to be an issue of _Billboard._

“This is from last year,” Sara explains. Tegan doesn’t respond, and with good reason: she can’t breathe.

The caption on the cover reads _Tegan & Sara Pop It Up._ It features the two of them dressed in coordinating black and white jackets and tops, their expressions basically eye-fucking the camera. _Holy shit._

“Holy shit,” she says out loud, and grabs the magazine. Jesus Christ, they look hot. And it’s _Billboard._ The fucking _cover._

Sara giggles. “I know.”

“Okay, show me more,” Tegan says, properly excited now.

Next, Sara pulls an iPad out of the bag, flipping open its leather case and opening the Photos app. Tegan leans forward eagerly. This is it—these pictures will tell her missing story. They’ll show her transformation from ol’ Tegan Quin into…whoever she is now.

“Fire away!” She puts down the magazine. “Show me my life!”

“Okay, this is us performing at the Oscars,” Sara says much too casually, holding out the iPad.

Tegan’s jaw drops as she peers at the photo of them singing their hearts out. Their mouths are lined in red lipstick, and they’re each wearing the hell out of a pair of leather pants.

“The _Oscars_? For what?” she asks, disappointed to find that she doesn’t remember it at all. Why can’t she remember them performing at the fucking Academy Awards?

Sara groans. “We collaborated with The Lonely Island on a song for _The Lego Movie_ —‘Everything Is Awesome’,” she explains. Okay, so that's what Sonia had been going on about.

Tegan looks at her, confused. “Why is that bad?”

“It’s truly an awful song,” Sara mumbles, squeezing her eyes shut. “Like, we’d never make it part of our set list. But it went fucking viral, and opened a lot of doors for us,” she admits.

“Oh. Okay,” Tegan says, looking at the photo again. She can’t believe it.

Sara flips through a bunch of photos, landing on the one she wants. “And this is us at a charity thing…” There they are again, wearing slick black suits, posing with a tuxedoed man in a grand-looking ballroom. Wait a moment. Doesn’t she…know him from somewhere?

She does! She definitely recognizes him! _At last._

“What is it?” Sara has noticed her expression. “Is this ringing a bell?”

“Yeah!” Tegan can’t help giving a joyful smile. “I remember that guy. I’m not sure who he is exactly, but I know him.” She jabs at the older man in the photo.

Sara exhales a bit of air through her lips.

“That’s Bill Clinton,” she says gently. “We were meeting him at a benefit.”

“Oh.” Tegan bites her lip, frustrated. “Right.”

Bill Clinton. Of course it is. She flops back onto the pillow, annoyed that she doesn’t remember meeting _Bill freaking Clinton._

Sara eyes her warily, probably thinking she’s lost her mind. Well, she wouldn’t be too far off the mark. “Moving on. This is—”

“—Wait,” Tegan interrupts her. “The album. What was the response?” she asks urgently. She has to know. Did the fans hate it? A  _Billboard_ cover is all well and good, but there are so many blanks to be filled. Tegan doesn’t even have the faintest idea where they are in their career right now. Yeah, the magazine and photos are a little reassuring, but might not mean anything in the end.

Sara’s gaze is intent, and Tegan knows that whatever she’s about to say next is not bullshit. Her heart stops in her chest. Breathing is suddenly impossible, but who needs it anyway?

“Sara?” she prods, two seconds away from losing her cool.

Her sister’s mouth widens into a grin, and it’s a beautiful sight.

(Also, Tegan notes with a tingle of petty satisfaction that thirty-five-year-old-Sara is also not immune to smile lines.)

“It was number three in the country,” she says proudly. “The U.S., I mean.”

Tegan gasps. “Are you shitting me?”

Sara shakes her head. “‘Closer’ went platinum. We did it, Tee,” she says softly, spreading her palms across her thighs. "It was at the top of iTunes for months. 'Goodbye, Goodbye', too."  
  
Tegan remembers how to speak. “If you’re messing with me, that’s really fucking mean,” she growls.

Sara’s smile adopts a tinge of sadness. “I’m sorry you don’t remember,” she says, looking down at the floor. Yeah, join the party, sis.

“It’s true, though. It really changed things. We opened for Katy Perry and F.U.N.,” Sara explains, “And the royalties from ‘Closer’ helped us headline a big tour around the world.”

“What about the fans?”

Sara makes a pained expression. “Well, some of them, uh, accused us of selling out,” she sighs.

Tegan’s stomach sinks at this. The fans have always been the most important thing to them, and she’d hate to let them down. “Oh.”

“But most of them loved the album,” Sara tells her, “And they were happy that it afforded us so many new opportunities.”

“Okay. Okay, good,” Tegan nods. Thank God. That means they’re still in the game, then.

As Sara shows her more photos—Jesus, is that them performing with _Taylor Swift_?—Tegan allows her mind to wander as Sara’s voice fades into the background. Tegan can't help but notice that she has yet to receive any physical contact from her sister. Sara has never exactly been a cuddly teddy bear, but still—she’d almost _died_ , and her twin hasn’t even laid a comforting hand on her arm. In fact, she’s been angling her body away from Tegan the whole time, whether she’s realized it or not. It also hasn’t escaped her notice that Sara’s only been bringing up band stuff—nothing about their relationship outside of work.

When Sara is uncomfortable, she has the uncanny ability to make anyone she’s with feel like an outsider. It typically happens when they’re at a party, or they have guests hanging out backstage. But never when it’s just the two of them...yet Sara is doing it right now.

It’s freaking her out, and suddenly she can't ignore it any longer.

“Sara,” she says loudly, cutting her off in the middle of some sentence or another, “What’s going on?”

While Sara’s face doesn't react, her grip on the iPad loosens, and Tegan watches as she almost drops it. Yeah, something’s up.

“Um, what do you mean?”

Tegan’s response is slow; careful.

“I can feel you, like, shutting me out, and I don't get it,” she says. “You’re acting like I’m an alien or something. Why?”

She feels the air leave the room as she waits for the response, not even sure if she’ll get an honest one.

Then Sara’s careful mask collapses, and Tegan gasps at the pain written all over her face.

Up until this point, it had just seemed like Sara was acting weird because she’s been trying to keep it together while dealing with the shock of almost, oh, losing her sister to an accident, but it’s apparent that it goes way beyond that.

“Tegan...” she says at last, pausing just long enough for the woman in question feel the horror overtake her entire being, and nothing in the world could have prepared her for what Sara says next.

“...You and I haven’t spoken to each other in almost a year.”

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

Sara’s words have shattered her world. Tegan’s stomach jumps into her throat, the news dragging her to the verge of having a breakdown. It can’t be. Sara’s lying—she _has_ to be lying…

“We...why? What happened?” Tegan asks in a small voice, deathly afraid of the explanation. Sara doesn’t answer for a minute, leaving her to dream up the worst-case scenarios (she’s always been good at that) while the iPad is packed back into the bag.

Sara sets down the bag and shifts in her seat. “Please…understand that anything I say next is not meant to upset you,” she begins, looking torn. “I know I owe it to you to explain our circumstances, and obviously, I’ll answer any questions you have.”

“O…okay,” Tegan stammers. “Go ahead.”

It must be really bad if she’s breaking it down for her like this. Tegan sets down the coffee she’d been drinking, curling her hands into fists at her sides. Whatever it is, she can take it. She’s survived this much, right?

Conflicted emotions play across Sara’s face, and while it occurs to Tegan that this is probably hard for her, too, she really cannot give a shit at the moment because she’s too busy fearing what’s to come.

“So, towards the end of our tour—the headlining one—things just started, like, falling apart. Our bus crashed a few times. Ted got sick and had to go home…”

This sends a jolt through Tegan’s system, and she cuts her off. “Is he okay?” she worries.

“Yeah, yeah,” Sara dismisses, and Tegan realizes that, duh, it happened years ago. “He’s fine. But the point is, we were stressed. We weren’t…supporting each other like we should have. And, you know, the usual stuff was building.”

Tegan grimaces as foggy memories of them bickering on the road hit her. Fighting on tour is nothing new, but after Glasgow, years of therapy taught them how to deal with it. Or so she had thought. “And then?”

“And then we…fought. But it was worse than Glasgow,” Sara says, reading her mind.

“Fuck,” Tegan winces. “So, what, we roughed each other up a bit?”

“Fought” is not descriptive in the least, and Tegan can tell her twin is editing, condensing…omitting. But she’ll press for details later.

“No.” Sara gives a humorless laugh. “We’re older now. We didn’t physically harm each other—we didn’t need to. No, we knew exactly what to _say_ in order to hit where it hurts the most,” she says, gritting her teeth at the memory, pain flashing through her hazel eyes.

Tegan cringes, believing they had it in them to explode at each other after such a long time on the road. “Then what?”

Sara swallows, thinking over her next words. “We finished the tour, because we had less than a week to go…but the shows were, uh, pretty awful.”

Huh. So whatever they’d said to each other had to be devastating. Tegan feels a panic attack rising in her, but squashes it due to sheer will and the desire to hear out her sister. “Wh-what do you mean?”

“We wouldn’t—couldn’t look at each other,” Sara mutters, not looking at her now, either. “We were beyond distressed. We were upset to the point that we couldn’t be in the same room unless we absolutely had to,” she says quietly.

Tegan feels the small breakfast she’s had churn in her stomach. Now comes the part where they separate; now comes the part when she learns what happened between then and waking up in the hospital.

“So that’s it? We finished the tour…then what?”

“We went our separate ways, you know, like usual,” Sara says carefully. “But before we did, we agreed that it was probably best to really give each other space.”

She pauses, reconsidering.

“Well, ‘agreed’ is a strong word. Management got involved and told us not-so-nicely that we needed to work it out if we didn’t wanna get dropped by the label, and this was the best solution.”

Tegan knows what that means. No visits, no calls. They’ve attempted that before after an album cycle under the guise of needing breathing room, but one of them always breaks within a week, and they’re both happier for it.

Sooner die without, Tegan thinks, nearly cracking a smile at her witticism. But it’s true.

“Then, uh, we didn’t make plans for the holidays or anything,” Sara remembers. “That was…yeah, about a year ago.”

“So we’re not in each other’s lives at all,” Tegan replies, close to tears. Sara wouldn’t say it aloud, but it’s true.

Sara doesn’t comment, and Tegan digests the rest of her speech for while.

“I’m sorry,” she says finally, not really knowing what she’s apologizing for because she doesn’t know what was said in the fight, but apologizing nonetheless.

Her twin gives her a look that’s supposed to come off as uncaring, but Tegan can see a hint of hurt there that’s just the tip of the iceberg of what Sara has to have been feeling all this time. She wishes she knew what they’d said to each other.

“I want to try to fix things. I want us to be friends,” Tegan adds firmly, her eyes welling. “I…I need you. You know that.”

Sara considers her for a minute, and Tegan’s afraid that she’s going to disagree.

But when a promising smile spreads across her face, Tegan thinks that there may be hope for them yet.

“Me too, Tee.”

Tegan gives her the famous gummy smile as she opens her arms for a long overdue hug, and Sara nearly leaps from her seat to lean in. Tegan buries her nose in her sister’s hair, taking a long inhale of the scent that is uniquely Sara, and her tears mingle with the silky strands.

At that moment, a nurse walks in, and the girls separate.

“When can I leave?” Tegan asks the nurse impatiently, eager to get the show on the road.

“Well.” The nurse flips through her notes. “You’re in good shape physically. I would say you’ll probably be discharged by this afternoon. I’ll make an appointment for you in a month’s time as an outpatient. Until then, the best place for you is home.” The woman’s tired face molds into a smile. “I’m sure that’s where you want to be, too.”

Sara finds her another coffee, and a few hours later, Tegan is allowed to leave. As they head out the door, she pauses in her steps. When she exits this hospital, she won’t be able to hide any longer. It comes in a rush: she not only has no idea what was said between her and Sara that day; she doesn’t know _anything_. Where she lives, if she’s been working, what her friends are doing…

“What if I never fucking remember?” Tegan panics. “What if all of these memories are lost for good?”

As Tegan looks into Sara’s concerned face, she suddenly feels very vulnerable. It’s like that time her laptop crashed and she lost a few unfinished songs, only this is a million times worse. The guy at Apple kept telling her she should have backed up her files. But how the hell do you back up your own brain?

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is a fluffy filler, but necessary...because shoes.

Sara gets an Uber, and Tegan climbs in. The newly-freed amnesiac jiggles one leg against the leather seat, nervous to be going to her apartment. The driver is already navigating the awful LA traffic, and she settles into her thoughts.

Sara had told her that they’d cut each other so deep that they couldn’t even stand to be in the same room. What does that even mean? What the hell had they said?

That line of thinking makes her head hurt, though, so she switches gears.

“Hey, am I still in my same apartment?” Tegan asks out loud, hoping that she didn’t give up her charming little place downtown. She would only rent it when they were working, but for several months of the year, it was home.

“Uh, no, I think you just finished renovating your new place,” Sara shrugs. “We both finally bought, and moved in a few weeks ago to start working on LP8.”

She looks down, mumbling, “Not that we’ve seen each other’s apartments.”

Tegan feels a pang, because she knows Sara means that what they really haven’t seen is each other.

Oh, and damn, she really loved that place. It has been her home for almost a decade, and now it’s all gone.

“LP8, huh?” she says instead. “How far along are we?”

“We’re in the early stages of writing,” Sara explains. “Not far at all, which I suppose is actually a good thing, considering your, uh, condition.”

Tegan nods at this.

“We were supposed to meet with Greg for the first time, the day of your accident,” Sara adds softly. “Together.”

“We were going to make nice,” Tegan says slowly, understanding.

Sara sighs. “Yes. Obviously, we owe another record. We had to suck it up and get through the meeting with Greg, which, you know, didn’t happen.”

Tegan doesn’t know what to say to this and the whole conversation is making her queasy again. She props her head on one hand and spends the remainder of the ride staring out the window, and her twin does the same.

* * *

  
“This is my _apartment_? Jesus Christ, it’s giant! Look at it!”

Sara nods appreciatively, the awkward car ride all but forgotten. “It’s beautiful. Very spacious.”

Spacious? Her apartment would fit on one of those _rugs_.

Oh, right. _This_ place is her apartment now.

As Tegan walks around, she finds herself in an awestruck state, feeling very much like she’s touring one of those places on _Million Dollar Listing._

She pokes in and out of the massive rooms, Sara right behind her. Every space she comes across is light and airy; all bright white and exposed concrete with floor-to-ceiling windows spanning both stories. It’s striking, to say the least. Tegan’s almost too busy gawking to notice that Sara, too, is touring the place like an outsider.

The twins find steps leading down to a space that opens up into a huge home studio, and Tegan lets out her favorite four-letter word at the sight.

Her attention is immediately drawn to the baby grand piano in one corner. Then she gets a load of the wooden desk, upon which two silver iMac monitors, speakers and a mixing console all stand at shiny attention. Her guitars are polished to perfection and they line the soundproofed walls; Tegan runs her eyes over a few new additions with a gaping mouth. Mics and a collection of amps are neatly organized.

Finally, the certified gold and platinum plaques for their singles hang importantly on one wall.

“Awesome,” she mutters.

Sara’s just as impressed. “Nice job, Tee.”

When they finally make their way back to the main room (truthfully, Tegan got lost there for a moment), Sara faces her with an intent look on her face.

“Do you remember any of this?” she asks earnestly. “Is it triggering anything?”

Tegan sighs. “It’s stunning. But no.”

She looks around the room once more, unable to help frowning when she realizes that she can’t see any signs of her relationship with Sara. There are no framed photos of them, no borrowed articles of clothing strewn on the furniture…it makes her sad, but Tegan tells herself that she’d apparently just moved in here. Yes, that’s it.

She flops back onto the amazingly comfortable couch, trying to wrap her mind around it all.

Sara notices her distress. “Hey, do you feel up to going out? We could grab a bite or something. Whatever you want.”

Fresh air _is_ looking good to Tegan right now.

“Okay, I guess.” Then she hesitates. “Actually, this is a little embarrassing…but I don’t know where my clothes are. When you were in the bathroom, I tried to find them, but all the drawers in the bedroom are pretty empty. I can’t find anything.”

Sara looks utterly horrified. “You don’t know where your _clothes_ are?”

The girls have always been clotheshorses, so this is an expected and appropriate response.

“I know,” Tegan moans.

“I’m sorry, I’ve just realized how scary this must be for you. To come home and have forgotten your entire wardrobe.” Sara takes a deep breath to compose herself. “Come on, we’ll find your stuff.”

* * *

 

Well, the reason Tegan couldn’t find her clothes is they’re not in a dresser; they’re in a whole other room behind a concealed door that looks like a mirror. And the reason they need a whole other room is because there’s _so effing many of them._

As Tegan stares at the racks, she feels faint. She’s never seen so many clothes, outside of a store. Not even their combined wardrobes on past tours compares. Crisp button down shirts, tailored pants and jeans, blazers and leather jackets in shades of gray and black. Dozens of pairs of sunglasses in their own special drawer. Folded undershirts and silky boyshorts with La Perla labels. She can’t see anything that doesn’t look brand-new and immaculate—though there is a lot less color than she’s used to.

Clearly, the floral blazer phase didn’t last long.

She flips through a row of black leather jackets, all pretty much identical apart from the zippers. She can’t believe she’s spent so much money on clothes and they’re all versions of the same jacket. Then again, she can.

“Happy?” Sara is watching her, eyes sparkling.

“Um…”

Sara holds up a jacket. “I’m borrowing this, by the way,” she declares.

“Sure, whatever.”

“Okay, I can see why this would be overwhelming.” Sara looks thoughtful, then her face lights up. “Try the shoes. You have to remember your shoes!” she grins.

Tegan heads to the other side of the room and flings open a door. And stares in disbelief. So, so many shoes. All in neat rows, most of them sneakers, with the occasional pair of boots or oxfords in the mix. Did she mention there’s a lot of sneakers?

“Whoa,” she says. “My sneaker thing seems to have gotten out of hand.”

“Yes.” Sara nods. “Yes, it has.”

They both spend another few minutes gazing appreciatively. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

Right?

 


	8. Chapter 8

The girls end up at some vegan place that Sara knows about, and Tegan bombards her sister with more questions as they eat.

“So are you still with Stacy?” Tegan says through a mouthful of black bean burger, causing Sara to crinkle her nose as the less graceful twin spews bits of food on the table.

“Mm hmm,” Sara nods, handing over a napkin. “She’s worried about you, you know.”

Tegan swallows and dabs at her mouth with the napkin. “Aw. I’m glad you guys are, like, in it for the long haul. Someone’s gotta take care of my baby sis,” she beams, earning an eyeroll.

Sara takes a careful bite of her salad, hiding a fond smile at her sister’s protective tendencies.

“Well, have you given her the update?” Tegan asks, tapping her temple.

Sara looks sheepish. “I…not yet. I haven’t even told Mom,” she replies with a shake of her head. “I thought we’d give it a little time and see if it blows over or something.”

Yeah. Or something.

“God, I hope so. Yeah, guess it’s a good idea to, like, keep it on the down low.” Tegan mutters the last part. “For now, at least.”

Sara takes a sip of her drink. “I did text Stace that you’re out of the hospital and resting.”

“Okay, cool. She’s at your apartment here, then?”

“Yes, she’s taking care of the—Oh, my God!” Sara suddenly drops her fork. “You don’t know about the cats!”

Tegan is dumbstruck, then pissed that once again, she has missed out on something so important. “You have cats? Since when? What are they like?”

Glee washes over Sara’s face as she whips out her phone. “Two Scottish Folds. My babies.” She opens the photo app. “Their names are Mickey and Holiday,” she says, first pointing out a cute black-and-white cat, then a fluffy grey one, as Tegan coos over them.

“They’re kind of famous,” Sara chuckles. “They get more likes on Instagram then we do sometimes.”

“I do not doubt that.” Tegan peers at another photo of the cats lounging in hilarious positions.

“I know—look at this, look at how he’s sitting—there are BuzzFeed articles devoted to them, even.”

“Wow. I’m an aunt, then?” Tegan giggles.

“Yeah, Mickey’s a dum dum and ignores everyone, but Holiday is a sweetheart,” Sara smiles. “You need to meet them. They've been waiting.”

Tegan feels her heart shudder a little at this. She guesses that the old her knew about Sara's cats, but didn't visit. For obvious reasons.

“I'm sure I'll miss them a ton when we go on tour,” Sara continues. “Not sure what I’m gonna do when you and I leave again…” she trails off upon seeing her twin’s face. “What’s wrong?” she frowns.

Tegan takes a deep breath. “The songs,” she says, her chest filling with despair. “I won’t get to perform any of the songs. We’re done touring, right?”

“Right,” Sara looks sympathetic as Tegan immediately tears up. “For you, you just learned them recently,” she says slowly. “We haven’t toured yet, in your mind.”

“No, we haven’t.” The older twin pushes her plate away, not very hungry anymore. “Okay, that’s about all I can take today. Can we go get drunk, now, please?”

Sara is already waving the waiter over for the check. “Don’t have to ask me twice.”

* * *

After the weekend—which Tegan spent in the fetal position on her bed, nursing her monstrous hangover (but no regrets, because there’s no way she _wasn’t_ going to get shit-faced after the day she’d had)—she drags herself into work mode, making an effort to do something with her hair and consume some much-needed caffeine.

As she pulls on a pair of black joggers and a soft t-shirt in the bedroom, she frowns into the mirror. Tegan just wishes her memories would come back. No, scratch that. She _needs_ her memory back. She’s had it with other people—namely, Sara—knowing more about her life than she does. Her sister is just trying to help, but the color-coded binder of updated information about the band that Sara conjured up for her to study has given her nothing but anxiety so far.

Tegan also had a decent amount of time to herself over the weekend to stew in her own thoughts, and mainly spent it desperately trying to avoid dealing with the fact that she’s supposed to tap into some creative well and come up with material for a new album, despite having just poured every ounce of herself into _Heartthrob._

Anyway. It’s _her_ memory. It belongs to her and she can’t live without it.

She stares into her eyes, reflected an inch away in the mirrored closet door. This is a new habit of hers, to stand right up close to the mirror so the only part she can she is her eyes. It’s comforting. It makes Tegan feel like she’s looking at the old version of herself. Mostly, she can’t see wrinkles this close.

“Remember, you moron,” she instructs herself in a low, fierce voice. “ _Re-mem-ber_.”

Her dark eyes stare back as though they know everything but won’t tell. Tegan sighs in resignation, because her attempts at a pep talk are basically pointless, and pads out of the room to go to her home office.

There’s her gorgeous new desk, all spotless and neat with the chair pushed underneath tidily. On impulse, she sits down and opens the first drawer. It’s full of letters, carefully clipped together in plastic files. The second drawer is full of account statements for the band, perfectly filed by date.

Well. She’s always been pretty anal like that.

Tegan opens the last drawer, expecting to find meticulously stacked bottles of Wite-Out or something, but it’s empty save for two pieces of paper. The first is a bank statement, and her eyes widen as she takes in the numbers. No wonder she went crazy in the wardrobe department.

The other paper is obviously torn from one of those yellow memo pads. It has her handwriting scrawled across it; only three words in pen.

_I just wish_

She stares at it. What? What did she wish?

Tegan turns the scrap over in her fingers, trying to imagine writing the words. Was it a year ago? Six months? A few weeks? What was she talking about?

She groans hugely and pushes the paper aside. She’ll obsess over that some more later on, but for now, she has to try and give the same effort that Sara has been doing for her, so she boots up the computer with the intention of trying to answer some emails.

There’s a bunch of back-and-forth about getting them in the studio, and Tegan scans the correspondence between the twins and their team, playing catch-up. Apparently they’ve got Greg Kurstin for the whole album, which is still untitled, and Tegan is shocked they can afford it. Then she remembers that they’re probably rolling in royalties from “Closer”. Excellent.

Her head starts to hurt after a few dozen more emails, and she pushes the keyboard away, drumming her fingers on the desk as she looks around for a distraction. Duh, her guitars!

She selects a Gretsch from the wall, and relishes the weight of the instrument in her arms as she tunes it. Before long, she’s lost in her happy place, and an hour has passed before the ringing of her phone brings her back.

“Hey,” Sara says when she answers. “How are you feeling today? Wanna go get lunch?”

Tegan’s stomach rumbles, and she realizes she hasn’t had anything since the coffee, hours ago. “Yeah, I’m starving. What did you have in mind?”

She’s determined to make Sara tell her more about the fight, and this is a great opportunity. They make plans to meet at a café and hang up, and Tegan steels herself for the difficult conversation ahead.

* * *

 

“Can’t you just—?”

“No.”

“But I—”

“ _No._ ”

“Sa _-ra_ —”

“TEGAN, STOP!” Sara roars, and a few patrons in the café turn to look at them. They’re more than halfway through their meals and Sara won’t tell Tegan anything more than she already has. They’re going in circles, and have succeeded in pissing each other off.

“Why won’t you just tell me?” Tegan whines, pushing at her pesto pasta with chicken. Sara says they’ve come here before and this dish is her favorite. It really is delicious, but right now she’s so upset that she can’t even taste it.

The younger twin glares at her across the table. “I’m done talking about it,” Sara says through gritted teeth. “Subject closed. Let’s move on.”

Tegan’s shoulders sag in defeat. “I just want the truth,” she says tiredly. “Don’t I deserve that?”

Sara’s face softens a touch. “I know, Tee. Just give it time. It’s going to be okay.”

“I know you don’t know that for sure, and your ‘optimism’ is not reassuring,” Tegan grumbles, air-quoting.

“Look, I’m here for you. Okay? Can we drop it for now?”

“Yeah, I guess it’s not like I have a choice,” Tegan says, sticking out her tongue.

The girls finish their meals, chatting easily about simpler topics (Sara introduces her to Snapchat, which is honestly a revelation, and Tegan insists they do a Faceswap right then and there) and Tegan voices her concerns about how she feels like she just funneled everything she had into _Heartthrob_ , which in turn is stifling her writing process. Sara offers her advice, which Tegan gratefully accepts.

“Wanna get dessert?” she asks when they’re done with their entrees, not wanting to leave yet. “What’ve we gotten here before?”

“Dessert?” Sara repeats, amused.

“Yeah, it’s not as if I remember,” Tegan says only half-sarcastically, tapping her head with one finger. Sara smirks at this, and a bubble of hope swells inside her. They’re going to be all right.

She can feel it.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

_Several months later..._

Tegan's having a good day. She and Sara worked together on a song called "Stop Desire" that is shaping up to be single material, if Tegan says so herself. Also, she was able to do it from the comfort of her apartment—which she has more or less settled into—and Sara from hers. Tegan is still marveling at how quick it is these days to modify and send a file back and forth.

2015 doesn't totally suck.

Tegan feels great about the song, proud even. She just has to ignore the fact that she doesn't remember writing most of it—she had apparently done so towards the end of the tour, which in her mind hasn't happened. But still.

In general, the living-with-amnesia thing has gotten a lot better. It wasn't too hard to reconnect with her friends, and she found that she didn't even need to let them in on her little secret, because they've been too busy making new memories together.

(Tegan has also gotten her hair cut again, because if she isn’t obsessing over her hairstyle every other minute, is she even awake? In an effort to differentiate from Sara, she’s opted for choppier layers and side bangs. She doesn’t love it yet, but her friends say it suits her.)

Once in a while, someone will ask her a question or make a reference that she has no clue about, but that's rare and Tegan is usually good at faking it. Or Sara will jump in and save her right as she's about to panic, just like she's been doing their entire lives.

Highlights include one friend staring at her, slack-jawed, as she tried to order a steak at a restaurant—apparently, 2015 Tegan doesn't eat red meat or gluten or _anything_ fun, really—and Sara sadly informing her that Ted and the rest of the band were moving on to other opportunities, and wouldn't be joining them this album cycle, or maybe ever again. It had been a giant bummer, but that’s life.

Speaking of Sara. Their relationship is better than it used to be in more ways than one, for which the older twin is grateful. But with every passing day, Tegan can feel the yawning black hole in the back of her mind exercising its influence over her, slowly seeping through her chest and limbs and making it hard to breathe if she stops to think about it too seriously. The lack of knowledge about the Fight-with-a-capital-F continues to haunt her, and some days she just wants to lie on the floor and scream about this hugely important chunk of her life that's been stolen from her.

Part of her anxiety is fueled by Sara refusing to talk about that day. Part of it is her own insecurities raging a war against her self-confidence. Sometimes, the insecurities win, and these are the nights when she doesn't sleep, the nausea and darkness of her thoughts making it impossible to do so. Tegan knows she has the tendency to be dramatic, but this is her reality for once, and said reality scares the shit out of her more often than she'd prefer.

On top of that, there's a bit of distance between her and Sara that wasn't there before, and that neither of them can help. They've been on the same page forever—they’re _twins_ , for fuck's sake—but for the first time, Tegan feels like she's fallen behind. There's a longing she can't explain, except that, oh, yes she can: memory loss, which if she hasn’t mentioned, really sucks.

The way Tegan thinks of it, is that she has stopped coexisting with the other half of her soul. Sara was unjustly propelled into the future without her, and though Tegan puts up a pretty good front, it's tearing her apart.

Publicly, it's mostly a non-issue. But then Sara, without even realizing it, will say or do something in such a way that makes Tegan remember with a pang that her twin has matured a few years...and she hasn't.

It'll be subtle; a passing comment, delivered with a slightly foreign inflection, or the ghost of a facial expression that seems odd to Tegan. Little things, but they matter and when it happens, despite being eight minutes older, Tegan feels stuck. Like she’s a child who didn't grow up. It bothers her more because she knows that if she'd never had that goddamned accident, she wouldn't even be perceiving the anomalies. Sara doesn't notice Tegan's noticing, or else she doesn't mention it. And Tegan doesn't voice her concerns aloud, because what good would that do?

She's missed out, and there’s nothing she can do about it.

The shittiest part is that she can't even write a song about her situation, because the very thought of what the translation of her inner turmoil would sound like is enough to deter her. It would be a mess. Worse than any of the overly cerebral crap she used to come up with in the early days.

She just wants some magical force to swoop in and solve everything so that she and Sara can go back to being _them_ again.

Other than that, she's doing great.

* * *

 

Tegan's got a few hours to kill before meeting with Sara and the label to go over some legal stuff, so she decides to go get a juice—yes, it costs like $12, and no, she doesn't care that she's fully contributing to hipster culture. She walks the few blocks from her place to one of her new favorite spots.

A few minutes later Tegan’s giving the cashier Sara's name to write on her cup, and receives her drink soon enough. Feeling cheeky, she takes out her phone to tweet a photo of it to their followers, and that's when it happens.

 _All I want to get is_  
_A little bit closer_  
_All I wanna know is…_

As the single that arguably made their career blares throughout the juice bar, Tegan realizes several things at once.

One is that it's the first time she can recall hearing the song on the radio, and it's a nice feeling, but not for long, because the second thing is that the song is triggering her memory. The third is an onslaught of the memories themselves, and nothing could have prepared her for what happens next.

The drink falls from Tegan's now-immobile hand, the green liquid contents splattering to the ground, as she's hopelessly sucked into a well of thought.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.

_A door, slamming behind them. It's a nice hotel room. One bed, not two. They don't share these days. This conversation needs to happen in privacy and Sara's room is closer to the elevators. So that's where they are._

_Sara is already seething._

_"Dammit, Tegan! I can't believe you're still messing up 'Shock To Your System'. It's been, what, two years? Pull it the fuck together already!"_

_Tegan is...exhausted. From tonight's show, and from life in general. Their Aunt Julie, who helped Sonia practically raise the twins, passed away two days ago, and they can’t even go to the funeral because they’re halfway across the goddamn world._

_Sara has decided to attack and she has no choice but to rise to the challenge._

_"Oh, right, like I'm the fuckup here. How about you harmonize properly on 'Closer' for once? You know, the song that's literally funding this tour?" is Tegan’s arrogant reply._

_Her sister’s hazel eyes flash dangerously._

_"How about you come down from that high horse and join those of us who are still in reality?"_

_"What's that supposed to mean?"_

_"News flash, asshole: we all have to pull our weight and you've been fucking up all over the place. I'm sick of it."_

_"You're sick of it? Well, maybe I'm sick of you."_

_Tegan had been going for a cheap retort, but her words end up ringing with unexpected truth, and Sara looks as if she's been punched._

_Tegan barrels on, uncaring._

_"I don't know if I can go through this anymore. It's fucking draining; the in-stores, the meet and greets, the stupid radio stations. This isn't what we should be doing."_

_Sara is seething._

_"Oh, I'm SO sorry. Maybe you should have thought about that when you agreed to all of that, half of which has been your idea, you shithead."_

_Tegan is on a roll, and this is just the fuel she needed._

_"Fuck you. You think I want to be running around like a goddamn chicken with its head cut off just so some rando station in Tulsa will play our song once? I'm too old for it. We're supposed to have been farther than this by now."_

_Sara's mouth is twisted like she's just sucked on a lemon. "You know why we do all of that."_

_"Do I? Because right now, it just seems like a lot of bullshit to me," Tegan responds icily._

_Sara is fully agitated now._

_"Have you lost your total sense of ambition? What happened to everything we talked about, everything we're working for...headlining tours, festivals? Don't you want to reach people anymore?"_

_Her words slice through Tegan. Can't Sara see how dejected she feels that their efforts have been wasted? Yes, Tegan wanted to achieve all of those things, but they're killing themselves and it's still not working. She doesn't know if she can keep fighting this uphill battle._

_She's tired. So, so tired._

_"Fuck people. We've put out seven records, and we still can't sell out a three thousand person venue," Tegan says furiously. She is openly crying by now. She doesn’t care. "Face it, they're going to be over us soon, if not already."_

_"That's what you want to believe? After everything?"_

_Tegan laughs mirthlessly through her tears. "Wake up, sister. The numbers might be good, but we're never gonna be Katy-fucking-Perry. Who are we kidding?"_

_This is rock bottom, she can feel it. Glasgow was a pillow fight in comparison._

_Sara’s eyes have ignited._

_"Unbelievable. It's like I don't even know who you are anymore."_

_So tired…_

_The exhaustion threatens to engulf her, but she can’t quit now. Tegan racks her brain for an insecurity of Sara’s that she can exploit._

_"Because you've been too busy desperately trying to suck the figurative dick of every reporter and DJ we meet, so they'll accept us as their darling pop flavor of the day."_

_Bingo._

_“Fuck you! That’s not true. They have accepted us, finally, and you know it!” Sara screeches. “You hate anything anyone says, good or bad. You're never happy with the press—why is this an issue now? Because it’s pop?"_

_Maybe that's been the problem all along. They're trying to be something they're not._

_"Wake up, Sara," she snaps. "We're thirty years old, and people don't become popstars at thirty. They just don't. If you think we're anything more than two indie kids that happened to make a good pop record, you're certifiable."_

_There it is. What Tegan couldn’t say before. What people have whispered; what she was so afraid of being true._

_They’re fakes, sellouts, not good enough, not good enough, not good enough…_

_"How can you say that?"_

_"It's not sustainable. It's been a good ride, but you're deluding yourself if you think we're gonna sell out Madison Square Garden or some shit."_

_Sara is finally crying. "I can't believe you. Why don't you think we can do this?"_

_Tegan’s fisted hands are clenched tightly, her nails nearly drawing blood in her palms. It’s better than making Sara bleed, which is what she actually wants to be doing right now._

_“Maybe we're not good enough," she finally says out loud._

_She doesn't believe this, not really, but right now it's about hurting her sister at all costs, and damn it, it's working. Sara’s mouth falls open._

_When did they fall so far?_

_“This isn’t you, Tegan. You used to be brave, and now it's like you couldn't give a shit,” Sara cries._

_“It's not working!” the older twin shouts back. “We're not where we wanted to be by now, and I don't know if it's worth it anymore."_

_"You're tired. We just need a break."_

_"No. This is different. These are real issues. Do you think they're going to go away? This far into it?"_

_"But..."_

_“I need to…think about things.”_

_Sara is furious at this. “No, you don't get to say that. That's not fair. This isn't about you alone.”_

_Have they lost their integrity? Is this worth it? Do they even know what pop music is? Tegan’s brain won’t shut up._

_"No, it never has been, and that's one of the reasons I can't take it anymore." Tegan gives her a pointed glare._

_"So is that it? Are you done with the band?"_

_"No, don't be stupid. This is our career, not a hobby. Quitting’s not the answer.”_

_“Oh, good, so you’re not totally fucking insane.”_

_Tegan ignores this. “Besides, what the hell do we have to offer on our own? It's not as if we can stop looking like each other."_

_"What, are you saying I'm nothing without you? That's rich."_

_Tegan backtracks. “No, I didn’t…”_

_“Yes, you did. You’ve always felt like you’re number one. Well, I’ve had enough,” Sara hisses. “Of working together 24/7, of sleeping on a bus, of sharing your fucking face, of being ‘and Sara’.”_

_Tegan’s got nothing left. So she does what she knows best: she runs._

_“Okay, then. I’ll just get out of your way,” she backs toward the exit before they come to proper blows. “Have a good fucking night.”_

_She’s out the door, but not before she hears Sara collapse onto the bed behind her, sobbing hysterically…_

* * *

“Hey. Hey, are you okay?”

The cashier from before is at Tegan’s side, looking concerned as another employee mops up the mess she’s made.

She stares blankly at him.

The guy tries again. “Uh, Sara, was it?”

Incapable of anything else, Tegan flees the store.

* * *

She doesn't recall bursting through the doors of her apartment, but when she snaps back to it, Tegan’s in her stupid spacious bedroom, dialing a number she knows by heart. She's shaking so hard she can barely press the right keys, but she manages.

“Teg—?”

“We had it," Tegan interrupts, her words choked. "I had the fight. With you. I remembered.”

Sara gasps on the other end. "Your memory's back?"

Tegan can only cry out in response, words failing her. She hears her sister take a determined breath on the other end of the line.

"Are you at home?"

Tegan gives a muffled sound of affirmation.

"I'm coming over. Don't move," Sara commands.

No problem. Tegan can't even physically hang up the phone, but it goes dead in her ear as Sara disconnects the call.

Feeling numb, she flips onto her stomach after a struggle, and that's how Sara finds her, face down on the bed about a hour later.

"Jesus Christ, Tegan. You trying to smother yourself or something?"

Sara's voice and touch wake Tegan from her fog, and she feels the pillow tugged from beneath her face. She can instantly breathe better, but she says nothing as she shifts to sit up.

It just takes one look at Sara's distressed face—again, so similar to hers these days, but now it makes sense because she remembers aging, she remembers _everything_ —for Tegan to start bawling again.

Without thinking, she lunges for the most obvious source of comfort in sight: her sister.

Thin arms encircle her as she sobs hysterically, Sara whispering random words of kindness as she waits until Tegan calms down enough to speak. Well, this doesn't exactly happen. Her breakdown is relentless as the devastation rolls over her in thick, pounding waves.

Flashes of memory shoot through her form. Boarding the plane home from their last tour stop, Sara refusing to look at her. Her inability to eat for days. Ignoring calls from Sonia, pleading for them to reconcile.

“You...we...”

The fight replays again, like a horror film. Screaming, crying. Their lips bleeding simultaneously as teeth sliced through in an effort to not physically harm the other. Tegan can almost taste the red, it's so vivid.

“I know. Shhh.”

She remembers trying to drown herself in her music, but for once in her life, being unable to channel the pain and chaos into something beautiful. It was too raw, too personal, too fresh.

“I can't believe I said—”

"Shh, it's in the past," Sara soothes, but this flips a switch Tegan.

She bolts upright, out of Sara's arms.

"No. No, we need to talk about it. Properly," Tegan demands with an unladylike sniff of her runny nose.

Her sister looks hesitant. "Are you sure? Didn't we, like, just go at it in your memory? You don't want a little time?"

Tegan shakes her head. "No, it's not like that. Like, yes, I just remembered, but it still happened years ago. My body remembers the time that's passed since," she tries to explain. "I remember everything now."

Sara swallows. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yeah, we'll talk about it. Just...I'll make us some tea first," Sara says, and Tegan guesses she needs a moment to collect her thoughts. Fine with her.

She's got all the time in the world.

 

 


	11. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

Tegan feels better than she has in ages. She and Sara had the longest talk ever, and more than a few tears were shed as they deliberated over their past, present, and, well, you know the rest. They’ve decided to go ahead with LP8, and Tegan has never been more excited to get back in the studio.

The return of her memory is obviously welcome, but it was weird as hell at first. Tegan remembered the years that she had to live with and process her pain over the fight, but at the same time, it was fresh. Talking it out helped, though, and here they are.

A few weeks later, it’s morning when Tegan is alone in her apartment, lazily surfing the web. Seeing a new message, she flicks her cursor over to the mail app and opens her email. It’s from Sara.

_Tegan,_

_I'm ashamed of how badly we treated each other, but we got through it, and I couldn't be more grateful._

_My relationship with you as a sister is more important than anything, and I know I don't say that enough. So I've touched the untouchable topic: you._

_Now that we’re good again and things are so strong between us, it’s safe for me to start to analyze it—obsess over it, really—as you know I’m so adept at doing._

_This is for you._

_SKQ_

With tears in her eyes already, Tegan clicks the audio file attached to the email and opens it in iTunes.

Sara’s clear voice begins to filter through her surround speakers, filling the room.

 _My life tethered like_  
_Like a twin or a son_  
_Scared to be severed right_  
_Right before we'd begun…_

 


End file.
